


The Blue Hour

by Talullah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: Tauriel finds herself in Lothlorien on her way to the Blue Mountains, where she meets Arwen and falls for her.





	The Blue Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna) in the [femslashrevolution2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/femslashrevolution2016) collection. 



> This happens right after the Battle of the Five Armies, and before Arwen returns to Imladris and first meets Aragorn. 
> 
> I can’t believe I started writing this on July 2016!
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Lothlórien, 2942 T.A.**

“The blue hour.”

Tauriel was not startled at the cool whisper. Light as Arwen Undómiel’s footsteps were, they had not eluded Tauriel’s well-trained ears. 

“My lady,” Tauriel said, as she turned in the small platform and bowed. Arwen climbed the last steps and stood by Tauriel’s side, gazing into the distant blue west. Behind them, the eastern sky was fully dark but in the distance a faint light could still be felt, more than seen. Tauriel waited as Arwen’s breath steadied from the long climb to the tallest talan.

“Dusk is beautiful up here, is it not?” Arwen said, after a few moments.

“Indeed, my lady.”

Arwen wrapped her warm fingers around Tauriel’s wrist. “Arwen, please,” she said.

“It slips, my la– Arwen.”

Tauriel returned her gaze to the thin line of the mountain range.

“Sealonging?” Arwen asked.

“Not quite.” Tauriel felt flattered and vexed in equal parts, at Arwen’s attention. As a consequence, she blurted out much curtly her answers than she wished. Arwen was a high lady of a high house, of impeccable lineage. King Thranduil would probably snort at the notion of Arwen repeatedly asking her to be called by her name. Sadness pin-pricked the corners of her mouth at the thought of her homeland.

“Arwen,” she forced herself to say.

“Yes?”

Tauriel shook her head. “Nothing.” She really had nothing to say, except that she missed the darker green of home, and her best friend, and her mother, and her men. And Kili, but she tried very hard not to ever think of Kili at all. Or Thranduil, who had broken her many illusions.

“Why did you send Legolas home?” Arwen asked.

Tauriel inhaled sharply, the cold air burning her nostrils. “Legolas belongs with his people, not with a pariah.”

“That was his choice to make,” Arwen said.

“True. But it was my responsibility to set him free.”

Arwen placed her hand on Tauriel’s waist. Even over the leather of her armour Tauriel could feel the warmth and her breath caught, just a little.

“He is lovely, Legolas,” Arwen said, after a few moments. “Kind, loyal, pure of heart and not so hard on the eyes either.”

“A fit match for the daughter of Imladris,” Tauriel said a little tartly, not sure if she resented the notion that Arwen had approached her because of her closeness to Legolas.

“He would be, yes,” Arwen parried coolly, “but I fear my destiny is elsewhere.”

“Ah.” Tauriel said, when in reality she had no idea what Arwen meant.

The sky was now completely darkened. Over their heads the stars gleamed, the star of Eärendil the brightest of them all. They were so high above the ground that Galadriel’s protection faltered and Tauriel’s sturdy military clothes were not warding off the cold now. She noticed Arwen was also hugging her arms, underneath the fox skin she had wrapped around her shoulders.

“We should head down,” Tauriel said. 

“We should.” Arwen lingered for a moment, standing between Tauriel and the stair. Reluctantly, she started descending. Tauriel followed her.

As they reached the first midway platform, Arwen stopped and waited for Tauriel to reach her.

“My grandmother is kind enough to give me independent lodging when I am visiting. From here I just need to take the Bridge of Silver over yonder and I am home.

Tauriel looked at Arwen with her best blank expression. Was that a casual remark? Was that an invitation? She could not tell. “Farewell, then, I bid you good night,” she said, after a moment.

Arwen raised an eyebrow and slightly bowed her head. “Good night.”

Feeling as if she had failed in some way, Tauriel headed down, to her own talan, not too far away. She opened the door, still in awe of the generosity of the people of the Golden Wood. 

When she had arrived, still with Legolas, who refused to leave her side, she had been offered comfortable accommodation, but once the full extent of her situation had been revealed, and once Legolas had left, driven away by her continued insistence, she had thought that she would be turned away, or quickly absorbed into the army and sent to the barracks or the border. No such thing had happened yet, and no one had pressured her or even suggested, that she made herself useful.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she prepared for bed and lay down on her mattress, keeping still, hoping for sleep to come. 

 

Tauriel held off from the platform for a few days. Every evening, as dusk fell, an urge to go up above the canopy almost overcame her. She resisted it, telling herself that she should not go, that looking to the haze in the north-east would not bring her closer to home and everything that she had lost, but even then, she knew she was lying to herself. It was Arwen that she wished to avoid, and it was Arwen that she longed, no, burned to see.

But on the forth night, she thought it was silly. What made her think that Arwen would be going up every night? She climbed the steps, looking at her feet, humming the song they were singing down below. When she made the last turn, she was disappointed to find that Arwen was not there, then forced herself into a smile at her foolishness.

She stayed for a while. At the limit of her eyesight, she could see the trees turning gold and red, falling under the sway of Iavas, but closer, for many miles the Golden Wood stretched untouched. She felt sad that she would not be eating chestnuts roasted in the fire, and that there would be no new wine to taste. A gust of wind reminded her of the first chill before winter. She decided to head down, before she got too maudlin.

After a few steps, she found Arwen coming up.

Startled, she stood to the side and bowed her head, saying, “My lady.”

“Captain,” Arwen quipped with a smile.

“Arwen,” said Tauriel, again embarrassed.

“I almost gave up on you,” Arwen said. “It is not nice to avoid people.”

Tauriel blushed. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to give that impression, please forgiv-”

Arwen placed a warm hand on Tauriel’s over the railing. “I am teasing you. Shall we go up?” she invited.

Tauriel nodded and followed her. As they reached the tiny platform, they stood side by side. Tauriel was too conscious of Arwen’s proximity for her own comfort. She wondered what kind of a woman she was, mourning one lover, casting aside another, and yearning for a third.

“You think too much,” Arwen said.

“I do?” Tauriel repressed a ‘my lady’.

Arwen smiled. “I used to do that too. I still do, sometimes.”

“What changed for you?” Tauriel asked, surprised at her boldness.

Arwen shook her head. “My mother...”

Tauriel regretted her question. She knew the story, and if anything, she would have guessed that her mother's ordeal would have made Arwen brood more and not less. She was left with nothing at all to say.

“See, my mother was a planner and a cautioner. She forethought everything, cautioned, warned, prepared, and lived in worry for me and especially for my brothers. All that worry did not change her fate, so now I try not to let scenarios, possibilities and what others might think, say or do affect me.” Arwen turned and looked north, to the darkening range of the Misty Mountains. “It was the opposite for my brothers. Funny how life goes...”

Tauriel cursed herself for not finding a single word to say to that.

“Is your mother, your family, still alive?” Arwen asked at length.

Tauriel was surprised at her bluntness. There were a number of polite ways of inquiring that in the most tactful and oblique way possible, but most people did not even use those formulas and fled the topic of familial survival.

“Yes. My father sailed with my older brother, though.”

“Humm,” Arwen said. “It is chilly up here. Let us go down and drink something warm.”

Tauriel followed Arwen down, a few steps back to avoid stepping on the hem of her dress. She had worn dresses once, when she was girl. They were not as pretty and well crafted as Arwen’s but that was not the reason she did not miss them. She loved the freedom of trousers and felt no loss of femininity at all.

When they reached the path to Arwen’s talan, she looked back once and smiled. Tauriel followed her.

Arwen’s talan was not too different from hers. She sat on a pillow, on the wooden floor and waited while Arwen lit a few candles and poured them an amber liqueur in tiny glasses.

Then Arwen sat across her and sipped her drink, gazing at her face.

“I suppose Legolas has often told you how beautiful you are. What an unusual colour you hair has.”

Tauriel blushed. Legolas had told her no such thing. That he loved her, yes, that she was brave and intelligent, that she was strong, fast, and fierce, but not that she was beautiful. Kili had spoken of her beauty, but she had not fully believed him.

“You are the one who is beautiful,” she said.

Arwen smiled. “Thank you.”

Tauriel envied her ease in taking a compliment.

“In our encounters you have told me very little of your home,” Arwen said. “Sadly, I have never been there.”

“It is less manicured,” Tauriel said. The forest has a life of its own, and we are part of it, in an entanglement of wills. There is a balance that is always threatening to topple.”

“You mean because of the creeping darkness?”

“No. Even before that. I remember before, when I was little...” Tauriel stopped for a moment. Arwen refilled her glass and waited.

“It was so beautiful,” Tauriel said at length. “But the snow could come early and stay late. The boars, the bears, the does might not bread well on the bad years. On the good years, the bounty was wonderful. We do not do agriculture as here but we do have our ways. We sow and we do take tender care of things to grow, using the clearings that the forest gives us. The trees give us chestnuts and acorns for flour. There are berries and other things… but I bore you.”

“Not at all,” Arwen said. “It is an interesting exercise to imagine you as anything other than the stern military commander, though.”

“Really?” Tauriel asked, taken aback.

“I am jesting,” Arwen said, reaching out to touch Tauriel’s wrist.

The contact was electrifying. Tauriel felt the blood rush to her cheeks and to her groin, and wondered if Arwen had noticed anything in the dim candlelight. Arwen held still for a moment, then drew a circle on the tender skin of Tauriel’s wrist. Smiling, she pulled back.

“Tell me more,” she said, leaning on another pillow.

Tauriel drank her liqueur in one gulp, to parch her suddenly dry mouth, and cleared her throat. Once more her mind was blank. Why did Arwen had that power over her? Her lips moved of their own accord.

“The trees are coming into leaf  
Like something almost being said;  
The recent buds relax and spread,  
Their greenness is a kind of grief.”

“Is it that they are born again  
And we grow old? No, they die too,”

Tauriel stopped. Why was she declaiming a poem that she had hated to memorize when she was younger?

Arwen sat up and continued where Tauriel had left off.

“Their yearly trick of looking new  
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh  
In fullgrown thickness every May.  
Last year is dead, they seem to say,  
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.”

“Lovely,” Arwen said, after a pause, as if Tauriel had written the poem herself. “You must miss home very much.”

“I do.”

Tauriel leaned back against the wall and slid down, until she was prone like Arwen. She closed her eyes and waited. She heard faint rustling, warmth, and the brush of soft hair against her face. Arwen deposited a kiss on her lips.

“Maybe one day you will go back,” she said.

“That is sweet of you,” Tauriel replied. Her heart raced but her voice was calm. She opened her eyes and stared into Arwen’s, waiting. Slowly, Arwen closed the distance between them, lowering her arms until their bosoms touched, then their lips.

Tauriel touched Arwen’s cheek with her fingers, aware of the coarseness of her fingertips, but strangely at peace with her shortcomings. Inside her, her wiser self warned her not to fall too hard, not again, not this time but instead she chose to kiss Arwen again, turning her on her back. What was it that Kili had said about taking what each day had to offer? At least she had learned that.

_Finis  
October 2017_


End file.
